


Dreams of Silver

by Andropedia



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bodyguard, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andropedia/pseuds/Andropedia
Summary: “Lady Proudmoore.” a voice that sounds like it’s supposed to be warm, but at the same time completely devoid of any sympathy, greets Jaina from behind her, without any prior indication of another person’s presence; No creak of the door, no steps on the old floorboards of Proudmoore Manor, that might foretell her approach.“Are you the new lady in waiting?” the shorter blonde inquires very seriously, – it must be obvious she isn’t any such thing – apparently not the least bit frightened, or startled even, by the tall elf’s sudden presence, and after a clearly dramatic pause, very graciously turns around in her seat, with ease preserving the impeccable situation of her dress.“Not quite.” the woman replies, and very calmly reaches up, with a swift swipe of her arm removing the tricorne and tugging it under her arm at her side, while undoing the heavy leather mask worked into the collar of her heavy coat with her other hand, finally revealing her face.
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 19
Kudos: 123





	1. Sylvanas Windrunner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibikotan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibikotan/gifts).



> So... this was mostly a concept I have been toying with for a while that spiraled a little out of control in my mind and here we are. It's basically your average bodyguard AU... but not quite. Also no schedule attached what so ever. I'm only gonna write this when I'm in a high quality writing mood. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Lady Proudmoore.” a voice that sounds like it’s supposed to be warm, but at the same time completely devoid of any sympathy, greets Jaina from behind her, without any prior indication of another person’s presence; No creak of the door, no steps on the old floorboards of Proudmoore Manor, that might foretell her approach.

The young Lady Proudmoore lifts her head from the book in front of her. – An old, heavy leather bound grimoire. One would expect her to be startled by the sudden and unfamiliar presence in her chambers, but she is no such thing. The bright blue of her eyes reflect the light of the candle perfectly, as she inspects the figure’s expression through the mirror in front of her.

It’s a tall woman, as revealed by her voice and vague form visible under the heavy rain coat, wet from the downpour outside, it’s collar covering most of her face from under the edge of a slightly weathered tricorne, pulled deep into her face, only the distinct glow of her eyes visible. An elf is a strange and unfamiliar, rare sight on these shores.

Jaina thinks she can make out the shape of a gun under there, how unlikely it might be, and the way the coat falls at her right side reveals she is also carrying a sword. The hilt of a knife or parrying blade sticks out over the trim of her boots.

“Are you the new lady in waiting?” the shorter blonde inquires very seriously, – it must be obvious she isn’t any such thing – apparently not the least bit frightened, or startled even, by the tall elf’s sudden presence, and after a clearly dramatic pause, very graciously turns around in her seat, with ease preserving the impeccable situation of her dress.

“Not quite.” the woman replies, and very calmly reaches up, with a swift swipe of her arm removing the tricorne and tugging it under her arm at her side, while undoing the heavy leather mask worked into the collar of her heavy coat with her other hand, finally revealing her face.

The elf is young. – By elf standards, most certainly younger than Jaina would have expected, her face yet untouched by time, as little as it is of concern for an elf, there are signs. Nonetheless a, in this light barely visible, large, albeit well healed, scar is running across her right eye, the only slightly darker skin breaking the smooth surface of her face.

Long, slightly washed, blonde hair, very orderly tied together in the back of her head, a few strains released by the hat falling down the left side of her face in noticeable waves. Her hair must be beautiful in any other state, Jaina can’t help but wonder. Her sharp gray eyes still glow softly in the dark, now less obvious than under the mask and hat’s cover. There is a dangerous calm in them. – Patiently observing, like the hunter it’s prey. The edges of her face are sharp and reveal nothing, her expression cold and entirely composed, the muscles under her pale skin barely moving when she speaks.

“Your mother sent me. I am to be your new lady at arms.” she informs her. Her voice matches her expression. Still calm, measured, revealing nothing. It has a certain politeness to it but is anything but obsequious. No amount of politeness diminish the almost threatening certainty of her statement.

“Sylvanas Windrunner. At your service.”

Her mother has never been the diplomatic type, nor the particularly appeasing for that matter. The hire clearly being the newest response in their battle over the upcoming voyage, that Jaina is insistent on undertaking by herself. A telling sigh escapes the blonde’s mouth, as she wills her face in as much dignity befitting her status, as possible.

“Whatever my mother is paying you, I intent to double it, if you return home to Quel'Thalas, at once. Or pursue whatever undertaking your heart desires instead of playing tirewoman and holding my hand while I step over a puddle of mud. Which I assure you is the most daring task you will come across while in my service.” the lady replies nonchalantly, a disparaging expression passing her face at the mention of her mother and the task, that she tries her best to not project onto the woman in front of her, only so little narrowing her eyes and lifting her chin challengingly.

“I am afraid I am sworn to your service until you reach your journey's destination. My word can’t be bought, once I gave it. No matter the circumstances.” Sylvanas replies seriously, although neither her voice or face give any indication as to whether she would even have considered such offer or was offended by it.

“I heard these words before--” Jaina lies. In truth all the highwaymen and sellswords her mother has procured have immediately taken her up on her offer on the first mention of doubling their pay, ironically giving her a reason to argue they weren’t up to the task to begin with. She manages to hide her surprise rather well, at least. “And usually the likes that agree to such a task are the kind of people that sooner or later take me up on my offer.”

“I must disappoint you then. As I said, my word can’t be bought out.” the elf repeats, vaguely hostilely, although it’s hard to tell still, and raises the eyebrow that has been split by the cut before a barely visible frown settles on her face that quickly dissipates though, as she takes a small step closer. This times the floorboards creek, just once. A very measured, purposeful response.

“Very well then.” Jaina says calmly, ignoring the threat, but examining the tall woman’s face as she does so. “I am assuming you will have the servants room right down the hall?” The words are sharp and dismissive. She doesn’t actually care for status in the slightest. But sometimes it is good to know who you are dealing with, as the words are supposed to be a mere statement of fact.

“No. I will move into the empty room next to yours for the time being.” Sylvanas informs her. There is a nonchalance and obviousness about the statement that is clearly meant to challenge her insinuation. The room in question is a guestroom usually reserved for other nobles staying the night on a long journey or visiting relatives.

“Well, you will be close by then if the creatures of the night come to claim me.” she can’t resist to add a little eye roll to accompany her barely concealed sarcasm. She is surprised by the revelation, nonetheless; Wondering what extraordinary confidence her mother must have in the elf, to elevate her to such heights in their household.

“If they so happen to do so. Yes.” the elf replies in a seriousness that doesn’t quite match the other woman’s tone, in turn bringing a questioning frown to her face, and there finally is a moment of peace in their little exchange. A kind of darkness settles on the elf’s face.

“If you don’t intent on questioning my integrity any more, I am going to retreat to the room. Admittedly it’s been a long voyage, and I have some leftover business to attend to.” Sylvanas finally says. There is a certain bite to her words, through all the politeness and deference. Jaina can’t help but wonder what business it might be, she intents to attend to; Alone; From her room in the manor.

“What do I call you?” Jaina inquires, this time it’s not a test, and her voice is friendly again. Natural.

“Sylvanas will suffice. If the lady doesn’t mind. Given the right circumstances of course.” she adds neutrally. Her face has returned to the indifference she began with.

“You can call me Jaina then. Lady Proudmoore is my mother.” Jaina replies vaguely matching her attitude, but then suddenly something grabs her attention. “What are those?” she inquires the moment Sylvanas removes her gloves. _Enthusiastically_. The phalanx of the taller woman’s fingers are decorated with a number of unfamiliar runes, decidedly permanently tattooed into the delicate skin in deep black ink.

“Vrykul runes.” the other woman informs the shorter blonde curtly while she proceeds with removing the outer layer of her garb, already taking steps towards the door unperturbed.

“What do they mean?” Jaina follows up as naturally as the reply, but can’t really hide her excitement, gets up from her seat and crosses the distance between them, picking up the elf’s hand in hers, before she can evade the sudden gesture, closely inspecting the runes.

“It’s an exorcism in the language of their shamans.” Sylvanas pauses, patiently enduring the shorter woman’s scrutiny of her left hand. She looks a little uncomfortable regardless.

“An exorcism?” Jaina raises an eyebrow, now meeting her gaze, a noticeably incredulous expression on her face.

“Yes.” Sylvanas says calmly. “It’s meant to sever any malicious spiritual bond.”

“But how would that help on the back of your hand?” Jaina frowns at her, not quite making the connection yet. Her fingertips are gently pressing against the taller woman’s palm. It’s rougher. Again, rougher then she has thought. She can’t see, but there are scars; Only small ones.

“It’s written in the blood of a black wyrm and blessed by a shaman. It takes effect on… touch.”

Jaina starts to crinkle her nose at that, her the tips of her smaller fingers now tracing the lines on the other woman’s hand one last time, before she lightens her grip, only barely holding on and falls quiet for a moment, considering the words and eventually getting it.

“So you can literally punch a spirit out of someone?” she eventually says dryly, still not looking very convinced. Her voice is laced with skepticism, and a self-righteous sense of it.

“If you want to put it that way.” the elf replies ever calmly, for a second inspecting the runes herself, before retracting her hand, causing the other woman’s smaller fingers to slip as she instinctively tries to hold onto it, until they finally curl around thin air.

“Do you have more?” Jaina asks immediately, her eyes visibly longing for the rune’s sight as they disappear under the raincoat thrown her the elf’s forearm as she slips out of it. The garb underneath matches the practicality of the rest. A thick dark black wool vest, that has a distinctively military look, golden buttons with an eagle crest on them, but no insignia attached to it, a noticeably exquisite workmanship, over a simple white shirt. A large belt of dark leather are strapped around her waist, holding what indeed turns out to be a pistol, and a sheathed rapier with an uncharacteristically heavy blade for an elfish weapon and a swept hilt. There is an assortment of leather pouches attached to the belt towards her back, and Jaina can’t really see, but there seemingly is also what looks like a boarding ax. Heavy blued steel on a richly ornamented wooden hilt, although the blade and the hook gleam in the dark of the room as if they have been silvered. The fingers of her right hand are entirely decorated with an ensemble of silver rings, holding crests and sigils she has never seen before.

“Yes.” Sylvanas replies curtly. It doesn’t inspire confidence she would actually show them to her, but that has never kept Jaina from trying. The weapons don’t really bother her. Most of the people her mother has hired to protect her in the past had an extravagant taste in their armament in one way or another. Blunderbuss carrying pirates and all.

“Can I see?” the human inquires eagerly, almost tearing away her eyes from the tall woman’s attire, but before she can reply is rewarded with the sight of a serious of elf letters that admittedly down the elf’s other forearm, uncovered by the slightly lifted sleeve. They don’t make any coherent sense to her. If it’s Thalassian, that much she is sure of, but it’s not any sort of dialect she has ever seen or heard of. “What does that mean?” she asks brightly, a strange curiosity spuring her on, her hands already reaching forward to grab a hold of the woman’s other arm.

“It’s an old curse.” Sylvanas replies, this time a little hesitantly, and has the good sense to retract her hand beforehand, leaving the other woman gazing at it from afar, her own hands now lingering in the air before she drops them out of frustration.

“An old curse?” Jaina parrots, again scrunching her nose in vague disbelief. “What is I supposed to do?” she seemingly puts emphasis on every word in her question, her eyes flaring defiantly.

“If I Kyrian tries to carry my soul it suffers unspeakable torment.”

“A Kyrian. As in the beings chaperoning the souls of the dead?” Jaina looks personally insulted by the notion.

“ _Yes_.” the elf slightly tilts her head. If her expression is any indication she is not joking in the slightest. Which, even if it _was_ true, would be a ridiculous idea.

“That… doesn’t sound very believable.” the human says matter-of-factly, unconsciously crosses her arms in front of her body. It gives her the look of a petulant child. The candles illuminating the room gutter and for a second it feels like they are going to succumb to the gust of wind whiffing through the old walls.

“You don’t have to belief me.” Sylvanas shrugs, they way she dismisses Jaina’s objection noticeably vexing the lady.

“Is your gun loaded with a silver bullet too?” the blonde pointedly roles her eyes at the elf’s apparent partiality for superstition. Not that she is not aware that there are, dangerous creatures roaming the far ends of the world. But a curse keeping the Kyrian away form one’s soul, she doesn’t have to be a naturalist – Which she very much considers herself – to know this to be an outlandish claim.

“If you must know, yes it is.” the taller woman narrows her eyes hostilely at the comment, starts to pointedly roll down her sleeve over the writing on her arm. “If this would be all...” she adds, for the first time during their conversation showing some semblance of a strong emotion. “You know where you can find me. _My Lady._ ” The sharpness of her voice is frightening now, the coldness freezing the blood in Jaina’s veins. For once the lady is lost for words. When the door finally snaps shut, all that’s left is silence permeated by the pounding of the downpour outside against the window; And a dumbfounded Lady Proudmoore.

Jaina spends long hours staring at the baldachin over her bed this evening; Processing, or maybe festering her anger over the encounter. Leave it to her mother to procure a true woman of honor who can’t be bought, but falls prey to such ludicrous notions of high magic and curses keeping away celestials. She is even unsure why she is so bothered by the woman to begin with. She seemed nice enough; Tall and attractive, not that she cares. At all. In any case a pleasant change from the usual lowlifes considering themselves bodyguards trying for the position. Not that she needs a bodyguard. _Caretaker_ , really. Because that’s evidently what her mother sees when she looks at her. A child.

It’s in the earliest hours of the morning, when she can finally bring herself to go to sleep. – Still annoyed with the exchange. She sits a moment in quiet, inspecting the scar on the back of her shoulder in the mirror. It’s completely healed for a while now, the wounded skin almost invisible under the sea of freckles, but some of the time, especially in the quiet hours of the evening, she can still feel it burning, not really painful, but distracting and ubiquitous at times.

She sighs loudly to herself, before without much caring for her hair throwing over her nightgown, finally succumbing to a dreamless sleep, as the rain has died down considerably, but not quite stopped yet.

She is most definitely going to mount a protest with her mother first thing in the morning.

When Jaina’s eyes sluggishly blink open again, it’s a not untypical cold morning, the rheumy air left by the heavy rain, that’s still persisting as a slight drizzle, making it almost freezing outside, even for early spring in Kul’Tiras. The cold has easily penetrated the room as soon as the fire went out, and the blonde rolls in her bedding unruly, wrapping herself in the down filled fabric until her body’s warmth finally is enough to make her comfortable again.

After another half hour of dozing to the vague, distant sounds of the courtyard, she finally fully opens her eyes, with a sharp, annoyed inhale remembering the evening before. She resets her jaw after an extensive yawn and sits up in bed, for another few minutes staring at the depressing, light gray of the sky outside and making her peace with having to get out of bed and into the cold. – The price she pays for not getting thrown out of bed by the pesky maid a few hours too early.

After washing up and brushing her teeth she steps out through the large glass door, onto the small balcony attached to her chambers, to get some fresh air, while the maid goes over the room. Which she is aware is hypocritical, but she is no mood to actually do all the chores herself, like she usually would.

It still takes her a moment to adapt to the all too bright and not the least bit less depressing light outside. Underneath the servants are already bustling about, giving her the opportunity to revel in her secret fantasy of running away and becoming one of them. Or at least a famous merchant or seafarer or explorer. Most definitely not her parents daughter.

As she lets her eyes wander over the courtyard, mulling over all the different trades and duties, she surprisingly finds her new lady in arms, – she most definitely rolls her eyes at the title – tending to a large almost black but not quite gray horse. From what she has learned from the equerry, an old friend of her father’s, the horse must be quite exquisite. The horse seems in excellent condition, considering the voyage they must have been on. Clean, shining fur and a strong, rested posture. The saddle next to it is very practically, not richly ornamented or the likes, and looks like it has been rode a lot. There are two heavy saddlebags and two holsters clearly meant to be for large rifles, but no weapons in sight. The elf is gently, carefully brushing the large animal’s fur and barely noticeably talking to it. Not in the elaborate outfit from the night before, but in simple, albeit very well fitting leather pants and another simple white shirt she wears a less heavy frock-coat over, and there can’t have much thought gone into her hair, as it’s lazily tied into a knot, barely keeping it from falling down her back.

Jaina blinks owlishly at the sight, steadies herself against the handrail of the balcony, as her mind slips for a moment, and quickly straightens her posture. Only seconds later the elf stops, as if she has felt her gaze upon her back, her hand still resting on the horse’s body, and turns to face the young Lady Proudmoore on the balcony. Panic settles on Jaina’s mind, as she suddenly feels all but caught, quickly looking away, and trying for a somewhat nonchalant expression, her almost flailing only causing the tall woman to raise an eyebrow at her followed by a light shake of her head, before she towards the animal again. Maybe luckily, Jaina can’t see the little smile on her face afterwards.

Jaina is pulled from her train of thought by the unmistakable sound of her mother clearing her throat behind her, and sure enough she finds the older Lady Proudmoore standing in the door behind her. Apparently the maids have dispersed at the sight of the lady of the house, although they seemingly have finished cleaning her room anyways.

“Jaina.” her mother’s strict voice greets her uncompromisingly.

“Mother.” Jaina replies an adequate measure of hostility in her voice. – She thinks.

“I take it you have already made Lady Windrunner’s acquaintance.” the older woman replies, unfazed by her meek defiance and takes a step back inside, demanding for her daughter to get inside with her. Jaina inflates her cheeks, but doesn’t actually have the guts to stand up to her mother. Not over something as benign as getting inside upon her request. Even if she is annoyed with her domineering way of doing so. But that’s her mother, straight to the point.

“Yes, Mother.” Jaina replies neutrally, closing the door behind her and taking a seat on the edge of the large armchair close to the window and folds her hands on her knees like it behooves a lady. It’s an old one she has already been fond of as a child. Her mother hates it with a passion, its not befitting her rank, but her father can’t refuse her anything. Never could.

Also, _Lady_ Windrunner? She can’t finish the thought.

“She will be serving as your Lady at arms from now on. And there won’t be any more back talk. We… _I_ have endured enough of your childish antics. No bribing, no sabotaging, no nothing.” her mother establishes with a grim finality in her voice.

“We will see about that.” Jaina mutters under her breath, slightly lowering her head to give her mother a well measured death glare.

“It’s her or the convent.” her mother informs her. It’s not even a remotely hidden threat.

“Yes, _Mother_. I understand.” she has to bite her tongue to not argue back against the antiquated notion of handing her over to the church because she won’t just submit to her mother’s idea of how to live her life. Not even to mention Arthas, that fool. If she likes him so much, she can marry him herself. At least that’s something her father unreservedly has her back on.

“I am only worried about your safety, Jaina.” her mother follows up. At times her act is almost believable really. With all that put-on motherly warmth and the overly worried expression on her face.

“Because all the dangerous excitement in my life.” Jaina huffs, can’t keep herself from talking back after all. Her mother’s expression doesn’t change right away, keeping up the grimace of worry, before the usual serious, distant colds sets in again.

“Yes, Jaina. That’s exactly it. As long as you insist on going on your adventures, turning your father against me with your little manipulations, that’s exactly how it’s going to be. Sylvanas will stay with you your every step from now on. And if you so much as try to ditch her, I’m going to change tune entirely. Do you understand?” the older Proudmoore towers over her, her arms folded in front of her, narrowing her eyes as she looks down at her, and Jaina’s finger intensely clench around the fabric of her dress. “You either conduct yourself befitting who you actually are, or you keep acting like a bandit princess.”

“Yes Mother.” Jaina grits her teeth at that, barely concealed defiance all over her face. She supposes her mother has no way to know which part of the statement she is agreeing to, though. The thought makes the corners of her mouth tug upwards again.

“Good.” Katherine replies strongly. Jaina half expects her to click her heels. “Lady Windrunner will stay in the room right next to yours, and will at your service at every hour of the day. She enjoys my complete confidence.” the last words are clearly meant as a threat too. ‘Don’t trust her.’ They scream. It’s one of her mother’s manipulations, Jaina is sure of it.

“We have sent for the tutor you requested, but we haven’t received his answer, yet. Your father is confident her will agree to our offer.” her mother sighs. Ah, there it is, the carrot to her stick.

“Thank you.” Jaina replies dutifully, a more composed expression on her face now. “If that will be all, Mother.”

“Yes. I will be in town the rest of the day. See you at dinner.” the older Lady Proudmoore informs her, concluding their conversation.

“Very well, Mother.”


	2. An endless night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello friends! I am... back? Sorry for the long wait on everything. I know I shouldn't make it a habit to apologize, but a lot have been going on, and for all the people checking in on this when there is going to be an update on X... lets just say even the things I posted this year, most of it has been written in december of 2019... I'm slowly getting back into it! So yeah to the first thing I completely wrote in 2020 I guess. Enjoy!

Jaina actually abstains from doing anything her mother might consider meddling with her new protector. It doesn’t keep her from trying to figure out a way to get rid of the new guard dog though. For the time being she opts to confine herself in the estate’s library or the adjacent study; Always dutifully shadowed around by the tall elf woman.

It’s been a week, and she would have figured she might have given up by now – all the other candidates would have. Instead _Lady_ Windrunner is quietly joining in her reading, although the elf, again to younger human’s dismay, opts to read the classics, in Thalassian, obviously – The thought makes her role her eyes – or some of the old books about religion or some other superstitious nonsense her great grandfather had kept for reasons beyond her; Wasn’t he supposedly one of the brightest seafaring minds and explorers of his times?

  
  


She has considered testing her though, truthfully, make an attempt at climbing out the bathroom window and down the climbing trellis beneath. But something about the woman’s presence makes her uneasy to do so. She is decidedly different from anyone she has met before, and something tells her if she did so, she would be waiting for her on the ground, impatiently tapping her food, because getting down a climbing trellis in one of the dresses her mother insists are befitting her rank and status isn’t actually that easy. – Don’t ask how she knows.

  
  


No, Lady Windrunner is always watching her over the edge of her book, sometimes from afar, on one of the small recesses on the second row of bookshelves above her, sometimes up close, from the armchair next of her. Always quietly judging her, the soft gray of her eyes oftentimes outshining the light of the candles late in the evening. A strange battle of attrition the two of them are having. And Jaina is losing, even only by virtue of her curiosity getting the better of her.

  
  


“Don’t you have anything better to do? Places to be?” the shorter blonde violently slams the old edition of _On the Electricus_ shut in between her hands, the sound as loud and as sudden as it may have been not startling the elf in the slightest. Instead she slowly puts her own book down – Jaina doesn’t actually know what language it is, has never seen the letters on it before – and lets out something that’s remarkably similar to an annoyed huff, giving Jaina the slightest hope she might get a reaction out of her.

  
  


“No.” the taller woman replies curtly, but raises an eyebrow at her nonetheless, but when the Lady Proudmoore’s face immediately starts turning the slightest shade of red, relents. “I am sworn to protect you. It would not matter if I were to be anywhere else. But I am not, decisively so.” The words are serious, not the slightest hint she is mocking her. For once in the days they have already spent together Jaina recognizes a softness in her features, and although she has never actually seen her smile this is how she’d imagine her face looks right before she does.

  
  


Jaina’s trail of thought stalls for a short moment, fully realizing that the woman just said for all intents and purposes she was the most important thing in her life, and no sight over purposeful exaggeration or deceit in her features.

  
  


“Your life must have been quite adventuress before.” She argues after a second of silence, and the tension from before eases out her posture as she all but slumps back into her own arm chair.

  
  


“Quite so.” Sylvanas replies, a small smirk flashing on her face. Unlike her ward she hasn’t let go of her book yet.

  
  


“Don’t you miss that?” Jaina follows up, narrowing her eyes at the other woman, annoyed with her curt replies.

  
  


“After a week? Hardly. The bed your mother provided is very comfortable, Banshee needs some rest anyways, and since you opt to hole up in the library… It’s a nice change of pace.” the elf explains calmly. – ‘Banshee’, that must be the horse, right? – It irks Jaina that even though that was the longest sentence she has spoken to her in days it hardly contained any new information about her. Well, besides the horse’s name.

  
  


“Where have you been before you came here?” she straight up demands, her voice maybe a little louder than she had intended.

  
  


“Hunting a ‘creature of the night’ as you so astutely put it.” Sylvanas informs her, quasi instantaneously eliciting an eyeroll from the other woman, that she to her credit patiently waits out, before going on, much to the shorter blonde’s surprise. “Farmers in the north of Gilneas had reported sighting of a creature larger than a wolf killing sheep and cattle. And the occasional farm hand.” she adds stoically. – So not as far away as Jaina had hopped.

  
  


“And, did you catch it?” the human obviously tries to come off as dismissive at the revelation, but it’s clear she is already interested in the story, as she leans forward in her seat, holding the elf’s gaze intently. Beyond superstition and exaggeration by aforementioned, frightened to their bones, farmhands, such a creature is mostly unheard of. She knows that first hand, at least. An ordinary wolf can look quite dangerous in the dark of the night.

  
  


“Yes.” Sylvanas replies, almost sadly, there is something in her expression that sets the human off quite a bit, sat least enough o she doesn’t demand an explanation right away. “A well educated and enlightened naturalist like yourself wouldn’t believe it, anyways.” the elf adds noticeably sarcastically.

  
  


“Try me.” Jaina follows up quickly, again annoyed by the notion she would somehow outright dismiss what she is about to say on it’s merits. And if she does, it’s not her fault the elf insists on feeding her bedtime stories and faerie tales.

  
  


“We tracked the beast for days before catching up to it near the border of Lordaeron. To not use a word the lady would find objectionable, it was a wolf twice the size of an ordinary man, elf or human, probably around two hundred and fifty kilos, if I had to guess, claws the size of knives. It killed three of our party only in the first encounter.” she iterates entirely too calmly for the gruesomeness of the story. The Lady Proudmoore doesn’t mind at all, is torn between being outraged and intrigued by the idea there might be _some_ truth to her recount.

  
  


“What happened?” her fingers dig into the arm rest over the little suspense.

  
  


“We caught up with it again and set a trap two nights later. Cost us another five men, but I managed to mortally wound it with a heart shot. I don’t know for sure, when I last saw it, it plunged itself into a torrential stream during the storm that night, in an attempt to jump to the other side.”

  
  


“But you are leaving something out?” Jaina tilts her head slightly. She knows exactly were she was going; Preposterous, like she said.

  
  


“As we expected the creature had uncanny similarities with one of the farmhands supposedly killed in one of the first attacks. Which led us to believe it had been him all along.”

  
  


“And he turned into a wolf, twice the size of an ordinary man, and wrecked havoc in the countryside, yes?” Jaina parrots half amused. Although there is something about the persistent seriousness the elf recounts the story with, that irritates her enough to at least entertain the thought it’s not a very colorful flourish on what actually happened. The elf again inhales loudly, seemingly considers taking her objection seriously enough to argue the point, but then shakes her head like before.

  
  


“Is that something you do on a regular basis then, hunting ‘creatures of the night’?” Jaina follows up when she doesn’t receive an answer.

  
  


“Not in general, no.” the elf says neutrally. Her expression unlike before is completely unreadable. The statement seems simple enough, but clearly carries a striking amount of weight. Jaina considers inquiring about it, but decides against it. Directly at least. The last thing she wants is to get on the wrong side of the woman that might as well hold her fate in between her fingers.

  
  


“Have you fought any vampires?” she decides on going with a little snark. Albeit given the answers she received so far she isn’t quite sure the answer isn’t going to be a flat out yes.

  
  


“Fought? No. And I hope I never have to.” Sylvanas replies meaningfully. “They are uncannily fast and strong. And it’s easy to get caught in their charm.”

  
  


“Just like in the books.” Jaina singsongs a dismissive look on her face. “So, have you been _caught in the charms_ of a grandisonant vampire nobleman, twisting you around his little finger with his allure?”

  
  


“ _No_.” Sylvanas replies, for someone with her very measured manner of speech drawing out the word a lot. “Fortunately, I have not.” there is a noticeable hitch, but then her voice quickly returns to its normal calm.

  
  


“I think I have heard quite enough. I will go to bed now. Thank you for humoring me with your stories.” Jaina says after a long moment of silence, both of them just sitting there in the dimming light of the fireplace.

  
  


“Very well. I will retreat to my chamber too, then.” the tall elf replies and gets up from her seat even before the other woman can do so. There is something unsettling about the way she moves too. Quick, purposefully, almost without making a sound. If you’d not look too closely it might appear she doesn’t move at all, merely changes states in an instant.

The elf brushes a strain of her own hair that has been hanging down the side of her face loosely, behind her ear, takes a look outside the large window. Jaina isn’t sure elves are able to see in the dark any better than humans. It’s pitch black outside, the moon and the stars completely hidden behind the usual dark clouds. For the briefest moment the woman looks genuinely worried, but when she looks herself Jaina can’t make out anything beyond the barely visible silhouettes of the manor walls against the slightly less dark horizon.

The elf’s eyes are still resting on the window, so she gets to steal a good look at the woman’s face she hasn’t managed since they first met. What she can discern from her profile, her eyes are calm, focused, their glow so dim it’s barely visible even in the relative dark of the room. Her features appear as sharp as they did back then, but there in her worried expression there is a hint of a gentle softness, and compassion. Jaina also really wants to know where she got that scar that dominates her facial features, but at the same time doesn’t change them at all.

  
  


“I thought you were going to bed.” the taller woman’s voice brings her back to reality, as the elf calmly turns her head towards her.

  
  


“... _Oh_ … I will be going.” Jaina isn’t sure why she even lets herself be ordered around, albeit very politely, by the woman, but nonetheless averts her eyes sheepishly, feeling caught, although she is sure she hasn’t actually.

  
  
  


It’s a dark night, there is not the slightest glimpse of light in the forest, as Jaina brushes past tries, stumbling over branches and dead trees, every step hurting her bare feet, violently holding onto the skirt of her night gown to not trip and fall. Her legs are bruised and scratched, her hair disheveled, filled with leaves and small twigs she involuntarily picked up on her run, and she is out of breath. Her sides are hurting, only the panic driving her forward through the darkness.

She can hear the creature coming closer, can almost feel it’s breath down her neck, larger branches breaking under its step. It must be gaining on her. If only she reaches the border of the estate, anybody. Is she even going into the right direction? It must be.

There is a loud growl followed by the creak of a branch, and doesn’t manage to resist the urge to look, see how close she is to her demise. The moment she turns her head she trips, stumbles, falls, her body thrown into a puddle of thick dirt and leaves as her gown wraps around her legs. She fights to get free. To get up. It’s close. It must be. She flails and fights, kicks. Tears fill her eyes; A bloodcurling howl the air around her…

  
  


“Jaina.” she can hear in the distance. It must be distant, but the voice sounds close. “Jaina.” It repeats. “Jaina wake up.”

  
  


Jaina jerks awake to the sight of Sylvanas trying her best to restrain her gently enough to not hurt her. Her legs are trapped under the elf’s body as her hands holding onto the human’s wrist are yanked around like the limbs of a puppet. It takes the shorter woman a while to compose herself, gain some sense of her surrounding, as the images of darkness and despair start to vanish from her mind, replaced by the other woman’s face, worriedly looking down at her. Her eyes are still filled with tears, her hair wild and disheveled, but she is in the safety of her bed. The safety of her home.

  
  


“Jaina, are you alright?” the elf inquires empathetically, only now Jaina becomes aware she isn’t wearing a lot more than herself, less even, as her simple shirt isn’t closely as intricate as Jaina’s nightgown, long waves of blonde hair falling down the sides of her head unrestrained. There are many tattoos visible where the fabric graces her body directly, dark black ink mostly, but Jaina can clearly see some color in there too. Most of them seem to be runes too. There are scars too, larger and smaller, she can see a very clearly, only mediocrely healed stab wound on her leg, a rather large scratch wound on her shoulder.

  
  


“I… Yes… I had a nightmare.” she eventually tears away her gaze from the elf’s form and focuses on her face entirely, her eyes taking a moment to adjust the close distance. “A very vivid one.” she adds sheepishly. “Did I… Did I scream in my sleep?”

  
  


“Yes. Very loudly.” Sylvanas informs her gingerly, and lets go of her hands once she is sure she is fully awake. As if on cue the older Lady Proudmoore and a hand full of servants in tow appear in the door, greeted by the sight of the tall elf practically sitting on top of the shorter blonde’s pelvis, practically still pinning down her hands.

  
  


“What on earth is going on in here? Jaina are you alright?” a stern look from her mother keeps the servants from stepping inside enough to catch a glimpse of the bed.

  
  


“I had a nightmare.” Jaina clears her throat, prompting the other woman to finally shift her weight off her and sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Sylvanas had to restrain me.” she adds seriously, even though come thinking of it she can feel blood rush to her face. It’s probably a good thing the room is as dark as it still is.

  
  


“You truly are a child.” Lady Proudmoore chastises, pointedly shaking her head. “A little more decorum, girl.” she fixes her daughter with a disapproving look.

  
  


“Lady Windrunner. We are very sorry such trifle robbed you off your well deserved sleep.” she addresses the elf halfheartedly before already turning to leave. “See that you don’t create such an upheaval the next time, Jaina. Good night.” with that she is gone too.

  
  


A long while passes in quiet before Sylvanas speaks up first. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  
  


“No. I… it was just a nightmare.” Jaina replies, wiping a last tear from her eyes. “Mother is right. I shouldn’t be so upset about it.”

  
  


Before she can say anything else the other woman wraps her in a gentle hug. She can still clearly feel the strength of her arms holding onto her.

  
  


“Everyone has their demons. Smaller and larger. I have seen the most battle hardened soldier weep at the grave of a child not their own, shy away from the simplest, smallest flame, freeze in place at the sight of a bonfire. Whatever it is that has been plaguing your mind tonight. Don’t take it lightly if it’s capable of creating such a stir.”

  
  


Jaina looks in awe as the woman speaks these words, doesn’t want to tell her it’s probably just because of the story she told her, or her little run-in with that wolf a few weeks ago. She sighs loudly. “Thank you, Lady Windrunner. Thank you for your kind words. And… _Er_ … saving me...”

  
  


“That’s my duty entirely.” a friendly smile passes the woman’s face, and Jaina can’t help but notice she isn’t as simple to figure out as she had thought. She wonders though, what the elf’s demons might be.

  
  


“Do you want me to stay, watch over your sleep?” Sylvanas gets up from the bed, pointedly takes a step back towards the door.

  
  


“No… I…” again that rush of blood... Is it that warm in here? “I will be alright. I think I won’t be able to fall asleep again anyway.”

  
  


“Very well.” Sylvanas bows her torso just the slightest before stepping outside, closing the behind her, almost completely silently.

  
  
  


It’s not as violent, or disturbing this time, but Jaina wakes in the earliest hours of the morning, the sun barely showing its face on the horizon, drenched in cold sweat and tears in her eyes, her bedding entangled with her legs. Apparently she didn’t scream for help this time, but the feeling of helplessness and fear wrenches her heart regardless. The overwhelming sadness and helplessness persist for a while, and she can’t help but lie there, staring out the window into the twilight, dark clouds racking across the firmament in the distance. It’s peaceful, the coming light and the security it brings soothing, and before long she falls asleep again over it. This time a deep, untroubled, dreamless, sleep.

  
She only wakes when the sun is already approaching it’s zenith. Undeniably an advantage of her mother’s deeply felt mistrust towards her, is being almost entirely unbothered by her whims as long as she stays on the manor grounds. At least as long as Arthas or any other suitor she deems fit for her daughter isn’t present. So she takes her time, even when the memories of her dreams catch up to her eventually. Less troubling, and once more less vivid than before, but nonetheless bringing faint echoes of her fear and despair in their wake.

She _does_ remember other things though, too. When she closes her eyes the last time before getting up to plunge herself into whatever gauntlet of daughterly duties her mother has built for her, it’s not a dark wood or a creature chasing her she sees, but the elf’s eyes, worriedly looking back at her. Her eyes fly open and she blinks owlishly, overcome with this strange, unfamiliar feeling. She quickly shakes it in favor of joining the others outside; Maybe go for a walk.

Strangely enough Sylvanas seems to not be lurking around the corner of her room, nor in the courtyard. It makes Jaina almost disappointed, upset even. It’s not that she particularly enjoys her company, obviously, but her outrageous were quite entertaining, and she vaguely felt safe, even form her mother, the first time in a long time; Not waking to the sight of a henchman or the dismissive eyes of her mother. She sighs loudly to herself. Sometimes leaving with Arthas, that buffoon, feels more like a relief then something to dread.

The blonde casually strolls down the halls of Proudmoore manor in search of her oath bound companion – she sort of still likes that thought very much. Not because of her in particular, of course. But the thought. – when she eventually ends up in front of her mother’s study. Something makes her stop before crossing in front of the door, and she takes a peek inside.

To her great disappointment she finds the elf and her mother standing closely to each other, both vaguely having assumed the same serious, regal stance, their hands folded behind their backs and looking outside. They are obviously talking about her. They must be. They even keep their voices low. Like she isn’t even supposed to have a say in whatever they are discussing; She huffs lightly. If only she could hear what they are saying… She tries to get closer, wiggles her head along the side of the door but for the life of her can’t understand either of them clearly enough to even discern a single word. She huffs again.

When she loudly rounds the corner, greeting them with an expansive flourish of her hand and loudly saying her greetings, once again Sylvanas doesn’t seem all to surprised by her very sudden presence and only takes a step away from the older Lady Proudmoore, greeting the youngest woman with a nod, before Katherine has even noticed her. As she would have predicted they don’t speak another word to each other the second she enters the room.

For some reason she feels an intense disappointment, betrayal even. Whey did she even think Sylvanas would be different than the others. She is probably just a scoundrel like the rest of them. What ever title she may hold can’t make that go away. Her disappointment briefly dips into sadness, and she retreats to her room again. At least in there the both of them leave her alone, and she spends the rest of the day, or at least the time until dinner reading the book she has brought from the library the other day, _istoría ton lykánthropon_. – No, the irony is not beyond her _._ Let’s just say even if the elf is just her mother’s lapdog, somehow her outlandish account has peaked the younger Lady Windrunner’s interest. If only to prove her wrong. _Which she will obviously do with ease._

  
  


Jaina springs up from the arm chair next the window in her room. Her body is almost entirely buried under the large grimoire, and she almost falls off the seat, flinging it around the room. She must have fallen asleep deeply, because it’s dark outside, and she is again greeted by a starless night sky. It takes her a moment to get a grasp of her surroundings. She feels startled. Something must have actually torn her from her sleep. She vaguely remembers a loud noise. A howl maybe?

Her thoughts snap back to her nightmare, before her eyes fall onto the book no lying halfway between her and the door. – Her mind is play tricks on her again. The book is exactly what she had thought, just a collection of scary stories. It might have taken some inspiration there.

She feels a little dizzy from slouching on the chair, and after shaking off her sleepiness somewhat, decides to take a quick fresh breath of air before going to bed.

Knowing the weather all too well, she wraps herself in a few layers of thick wool, and steps outside. The air is damp and cold, just as she has expected, known, really, and in the total darkness she is unable to see far. She sits down on the wooden stool she usually leaves outside and takes a deep breath. It’s nice, she can smell the distant sea, the scent of salt and foam carried forward by the offshoots of its familiar breeze.

She is about to doze away again, even in the relative could outside, when an ear-splitting howl forcefully pulls her consciousness awake. Even distant, it’s loud and clear, and makes the blood freeze in her veins. For a moment she just stands there in total silence, waiting for the next one, any sound, anything. But there is only darkness and quiet again.

Strangely there is no commotion or anything. She can’t be the only one that heard that, right? She looks around the courtyard, tries to make out anything, but there is nothing.

Only after she is entirely sure there is nothing out there, only then she dares to step inside again, still overcome with the same abstract fear and despair she had felt during her nightmare. Did she only imagine the sound? Is she going mad, like her mother so passionately advocates? – She hastily pulls the door close without turning her back on it once until it falls shut.

  
  


Jaina wakes tired and hung over this time. But she is in her bed. She can even vaguely remember getting in, although she isn’t sure when or how. The book lies closed next to her bed, neatly aligned with the edge of her nightstand as if nothing ever happened to her.

Disoriented and more tired then she feels she should be, she frowns at the sight, trying to gather whatever recollection she has of what she has heard during the night, committing to memory as best as she can.


	3. The ax in the woods

It’s been almost a month since her uninvited companion has entered her life, and thus far no life destroying catastrophe or immediate mortal danger has befallen it; As she has expected, really. Still, the tall elf that her mother so urgently though necessary to add to the list of grievances she has with her existence, is still there, following her on her every step, telling her ever more outrageous stories of the supposed adventures she has been on before she came to Kul’Tiras. Arguably still better than any of the company her mother has picked out for her before. Still not what she would have hoped for.

Jaina sighs at her own image in the mirror; The brush she is trying to get her hair in order with is stuck again. If she didn’t know better, she would think that’s the elf’s doing too. Ever since her new bodyguard has arrived, nothing has been like it used to be. Not even her ever defiant hair, apparently.

She wraps her hand around the offending bundle of hair, holding it together, as she quasi rips the brush through the entangled bits, finally straightening them out. A blink of an eye later the brush snaps in two, prompting the Lady to groan and click her tongue annoyed; She doesn’t remember the brush to be that old.

It occurs to her, as a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, that shouldn’t have so adamantly rejected her mother’s plea to take on another chamber maiden, after her old nursemaid’s retirement. If only for the benefit of not having to traverse half the estate to get one of the cookmaids to help her with her stays. Not that she minds, really. The older ones know her since she was an infant, the younger ones she practically grew up with. Even if her mother insists ‘fraternizing’ with the servants, as so many things she actually enjoys, isn’t befitting her rank.

Let’s just say her mood can best be described as _annoyed_. Maybe she is still ailing from her last nightmare; Luckily, one she didn’t have to be rescued from. An ordeal she is still not very keen on repeating, disregarding the rush of warmth she sometimes feels when thinking about the elf towering above her that night.

She had been running through the same dark woods again. Helpless. Practically consumed by fear. But halfway through it something shifted; She had looked down and found herself drenched in blood. Her fingers and hands bruised and hurt, her otherwise floral white nightgown soaked with the dark red, in the dark of the night barely visible blood. She can still feel the dampness on her skin. The beast must have caught her this time. There had been a vague, unpleasant sensation filling her whole body. She remembers looking down at her hands and the moments before waking up, just standing there, staring at them in anguish. The loud, thumping sound of her heart drowning out any other noise. The image of the blood was completely surreal considering the darkness. What does it mean?

When Jaina, not too gracefully, sticks her head out of her chambers door, like often her shadow is nowhere to be seen, – which is not to say she is miraculously going to show up the second she steps outside – so Jaina hastily makes her way through the upper floor and down the servant staircase at the end of the hall, having to resort to an apologetic smile when she runs into one of the maids carrying a large pile of laundry upstairs, and wiggles herself past her. “I am terribly sorry Claudine!” she calls, already halfway through the door to the kitchen, earning her an amused shake of the head from the older woman.

It must really not be her day because the first thing that happens the moment she stumbles into the kitchen is Pepe arching his back and hissing at her like he has never seen her before, almost making her fall over backwards.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jaina scolds the black cat that’s still presenting his most defensive self, as if she was the devil himself.

“Maybe it’s our new resident’s smell on you.” the young brunette handling a piece of dough comments cheekily. Jaina is inclined to agree.

“Good morning, Émilie!” a smile replaces the blonde’s frown, and she quickly passes the cat in favor of hoisting herself up onto the window sill next to the woman.

“Good morning, my lady.” the other woman replies excessively formal, prompting the actual lady to scrunch her nose in protest at her title.

“You know I hate it when you do that!”

“Do you need help with your stays?” Émilie replies dryly, propping her hand against her hip challengingly, but can’t keep herself from smiling either. Sharp green eyes twinkling back at the Lady from a face adorned with the same amount of freckles as her own, if not more.

“Good morning, Jaina dear.” the older woman entering the kitchen with a large basket under her arm ‘s, warm voice greets the blonde. “Have you slept well?”

“ _Oh, Uh_ , yes. Thank you Sabine. Good morning!” the blonde replies. “Do you need help with that?” she nods at the container, filled to the brim with vegetables.

“Thank you, dear. But I am not that old, yet.” the stout woman smiles back at her. “And I don’t think your mother would appreciate you helping with such tasks unbefitting of a lady.” she adds dryly, the fake seriousness in her voice making the young Lady Proudmoore giggle with glee.

“Where is Pepe?” Sabine inquires, taking a quick look around the kitchen. “I don’t want him to play with the ingredients again.”

“Don’t know. When Jaina came in he snapped at her then ran away. Maybe he is going after the rats in the cellar for once.”

“I doubt that.” Jaina chimes in cheerily from her spot in the window.

“Stupid cat. Don’t worry, dear, he will come back once he is hungry.” Sabine shrugs and finally sets down the basket on the large wooden table in the middle of the room. “How is your protector?” she inquires while untying and retying her apron.

“I haven’t seen her, yet. _Luckily_. If I had to guess, probably cozying up to the venerable Lady Proudmoore.” the blonde wrinkles her nose again.

“Your mother means well.” the cook argues calmly and without asking throws the blonde a tomato from the basket she catches in the fabric of her dress with ease. The tomato and the memories attached to it are almost half the reason she comes here quasi every morning.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” the short blonde argues, rubs the surface of the fruit against the skirt of her dress to clean off some dirt.

“If you say so.” the cook smiles warmly and returns her attention to sorting the vegetables.

“When is your father set to return?” Émilie follows up. She has finished preparing the dough and places it in the already hot cast iron oven.

“He won’t return for at least another month.” Jaina replies sadly. “And Tandred wrote me he and Derek won’t be either. But they are alive and well.”

“ _Ah.._.” the brunette slightly falters at the information.

“Don’t worry, Tan is not chasing any skirts. He is way too afraid of Mother finding out. You know, since she is working so hard on that betrothal to princess Calia. A bastard child wouldn’t bode too well for that.” Jaina quips.

“That’s not...” Émilie defends pointlessly. “And isn’t she joining a convent?”

“Did such minor detail ever stop mother?” Jaina points out.

“I suppose not.” the brunette concedes, still slightly sad.

“Now can you please help me with my lacing?” the young Lady Proudmoore inquires slightly sheepishly, taking the last bite from the tomato. Émilie only rolls her eyes at that, but hops onto the window sill with her. A moment later the laces tighten, accompanied by an audible exhale that sounds more like a whimper.

“That was for teasing me about your brother.” the other woman says cheerfully.

“Thanks, Émie.” Jaina replies dryly, wiggling and nudging her garment in place.

“You are welcome! My Lady.” the maid smiles and breathes a small peck against the blonde’s temple. The small token of their friendship earns her a knowingly disapproving look from the cook, but the Lady’s posture noticeably softens and she turns her head towards her with a dreamy smile.

“I am planning on going into town today, do the two of you want anything? My mother’s treat!” Jaina announces after musing over the gesture for a short while. “I would take you, but I don’t think she would like that very much. I mean, I could probably get her to allow Émilie, because we grew up together and she knows I am your friend and she wants to make peace in father’s absence, but she would attach some preposterous condition...” she rambles a little.

“If you stop by the confectioner, you can bring us something. If we order it for the kitchen, Lady Proudmoore always keeps an eye on it, like it’s made from gold or something. You know her.” Émilie argues.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” the older woman agrees cheerfully. “And a bottle of that Cognac your grandfather used to have hidden in his globe. We can share it later. When the _venerable_ Lady Proudmoore has gone to bed.”

The way the emphasis on the word makes her the ‘disreputable’ Lady Proudmoore, a title she wouldn’t be particularly unhappy with, makes Jaina giggle again. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Looks like you have been found.” the brunette nods her head towards the window behind Jaina, and when she turns her head she finds Sylvanas bowing down to take a look through the window from outside, eyeing her vaguely questioning.

“Seems like it.” Jaina agrees quickly, falling into a more neutral demeanor, unwilling to reveal her affection for the two of them. “Thanks for helping me with the stays.” she adds politely, already making her way to the front door of the kitchen this time.

“Spending some time with the servants, I see.” the elf comments remarkably neutrally once their paths eventually cross in the main hall.

“Respectfully, that’s nothing that should be of concern to you. As long as I am in the manor or on the estate I am not in any danger, or in need of your protection in particular.” Jaina replies seriously, doesn’t give any indication the statement is remotely up for debate, and even pointedly keeps her eyes trained forward, not even deigning to look at her as she says it.

The elf tilts her head, only the slightest bit irritated by the grave seriousness, but then quietly nods her agreement, even though it’s not quite clear the shorter blonde has even seen her do it.

“I want to go into town today. The weather is quite warm for this time of year, and it doesn’t rain for once. Any objections, _Lady Windrunner?_ ” Jaina inquires with a measure of subtle hostility that Sylvanas was completely unaware she was capable of.

“No. I’ll see that the equerry prepares your horse. I’ll be waiting for you outside.” the tall woman replies courteously and without further ado turns on her heel, marching off into the courtyard.

The elf blinks owlishly but once, when she sees her ward approach the gate. She is dressed in a signature dark blue dress, but instead of what would be considered acceptable women’s riding headwear in the kingdoms of men, she wears a full sized tricorne. A lot more ornate than the elf’s, almost like part of the uniform of the navy her family claims such a proud tradition in, adorned with small white feather, strands of blonde hair welling out from under it. It strangely suits her rather well. There is a certain sharpness to her features, almost regal, like her mother, that she seemingly hides around the manor, if intentionally or not. Sylvanas is actually about to offer her a hand, when the blonde effortlessly hoists herself up onto the side saddle; No small feat, especially for a woman her height.

“A gun?” Sylvanas comments as the other woman makes herself comfortable in the saddle. An ornate pistol is holstered on the opposite side of the saddle. She has seen the equerry load it, and the way the blonde seems entirely unbothered by it, makes her think there might be something to her mother’s insistence she has a habit of getting into trouble.

“My father and brothers insisted I carry one with me, after got in a little tilt with what they assume to have been a highwayman intent on robbing me of my possessions. I think besides his very evident lack of manners, he was a rather pleasant chap.” Jaina shrugs. “Didn’t harm a hair on my head.”

“Right.” Sylvanas frowns at the explanation.

“And I recon, you are carrying myriad weapons with you.” the young Lady Proudmoore argues. “After all a lady has to be able to defend herself.”

“A wise disposition.” the elf replies with a small smirk on her face. “Do you know your way around it? I couldn’t help but notice it has been loaded for you.”

“I have fired and loaded it before, if that’s what your concern stems from. On my own at that. Do you mind if we get going? I don’t want it to get late.” Jaina replies unfazed by the insinuation she didn’t know what she was doing, if anything dismissing it.

Despite the air’s relative warmth, a fresh breeze is blowing against their faces. The moisture of the rainy days together with the ocean close by turning it into waves of freezing cold scratching Jaina’s skin and hurting her eyes, even after she has thrown a scarf around her neck and face. The elf seems unfazed by the weather. She has closed the collar of her coat around her face, but where Jaina barely resists the urge to shake from the cold, the elf sits stoically on top of the dark gray Banshee.

Because of its cold, maritime climate that’s unique to the islands of Kul’Tiras, as soon as the road enters the larger patches of trees of the woods surround the estate, large parts even part of it still, the sun loses all its strength, and what the young Lady had deemed a pleasant spring day before quickly turns into an uncanny wintry cold, with large spots at the wayside still frosted over instead of lined by crocuses and winter aconites.

“Doesn’t the cold bother you?” Jaina inquires after some time on the road. The cold is hurting her face, her fingers are freezing through her gloves, she might as well bridge some time listening to whatever bedtime story the elf is going to tell her next.

“Not at all. I am used to worse.” Sylvanas replies neutrally, not even looking over.

“Isn’t Quel’Thalas known for its warm climate? I would have thought an elf would be quite bothered by this weather.” the human follows up, raising an eyebrow at her companion.

“The warmth is not really part of the nature of elves. And whilst it’s true that it’s always summer in the Eversong forests, I have spent much time in Northrend and the broken isles before entering your service.”

Jaina takes a while to consider the information. She supposes her spending a lot of time in the north does shed some light on the runes all over her body, even though she is not quite sure why someone well traveled and seemingly well educated would immerse themselves in this kind of superstition.

“What made you leave your home and travel the north, if I may ask? You are of noble birth, are you not?”

For a moment it looks like Sylvanas is going to stop her horse, a noticeable tension building in her posture, but then nothing of the sort happens, and she simply turns towards her ward. The gray glow of her eyes is faintly visible against the backdrop of the forest, without the sun or the warmth of the candles her skin looks even paler than Jaina had thought at first; It almost looks like her flesh is covered with alabaster glass, in this light.

“I was overcome by an urge to explore, I suppose. The halls of Quel’Thalas tend to be a lonely place most of the time. A golden cage is cage no less.” the elf iterates purposefully slowly, seemingly carefully weighing every word. Jaina curiously watches her speak.

“I can relate to that.” the shorter blonde replies, bitterness coloring her voice. She wants to point out the hypocrisy of being complicit in her mother’s grip on her life, but is too intrigued by the idea of hearing more about the elf, again. “So have you been home at all since you left?” it suddenly occurs to her, that she had always imagined to never return once she would have managed to leave it all behind.

Again the elf pauses, considers for a moment. It makes Jaina immediately think she will be omitting something.

“ _Yes_.” her protector eventually answers, and of all the things she has said, all the things Jaina has expected her to answer, this is the least satisfying. For a second she feels cheated out of some precious knowledge, some divine context in between magic and werewolves. So much possible meaning in a single word, and so little all the same time. The blonde quasi unconsciously begins to puff up, but doesn’t follow up her question, and the short conversation gives way to silence again. A moment later another cold breeze surges against her face, as if on cue. Next time she is most definitely going to take the carriage.

A mile down the road they spent in quiet, they come across a strange scene. There is a carriage stuck in the dirt, from the look of it, it has for a while, surrounded by a group of seemingly unrelated horses. A few steps away from it, there is a knot of people, what looks like a couple of elderly peasants and three men of rather dishonorable appearance, very insistently and threateningly talking to them.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Jaina stops her horse, giving the elf a questioning look. “They seem to be in trouble.”

“We shouldn’t get involved. Never ends well.” the elf replies seriously, even pulls her collar down to reveal the entirety of her face for emphasis.

“But what if they are being robbed? Or worse.” Jaina follows up incredulously.

“We can alarm the constabulary once we reach Boralus.” Sylvanas argues calmly and purses her lips.

“That could be too late. There are three of them.” the young Lady Proudmoore gives back.

“And what are you going to do about it? They might as well be tax collectors.” the elf’s expression softens even though she raises her eyebrows.

“Tax collectors?” Jaina scrunches her nose. Before the elf can say something else, the blonde spurs her horse, now quickly approaching the scene. If they haven’t noticed their presence yet, they have now. Her guardian inhales loudly, and does the same. Banshee effortlessly catches up to Jaina’s horse, and she manages to overtake the Lady and reach the scene first.

“What is going on here?” Jaina demands sharply, without a doubt channeling her mother. – Her posture on the horse is flawless, and to Sylvanas’ surprise she even has it angled in a way that hides the gun on the far side from the men.

“Oh, nothing much. Just having a friendly chat with my old friend Jacob here. _My Lady._ ” one of the men turns towards them while the others continue to gang up on the couple. His hand is resting on the pistol tucked into his belt now, also revealing a sword at his side. “Ain’t that right, Jacob?”

The old man doesn’t reply, instead cowers in fear at the mention of his name, protectively wrapping his arm around the woman.

“I think you should leave now.” Jaina announces and jumps off her horse, what can only be described as striding, getting a few steps closer to them. Sylvanas isn’t sure if she should commend her boldness or roll her eyes at her naiveté. Although it makes her wonder how sheltered the noblewoman must actually have been, because no one can be this… _unworldly_. She also left her gun.

“And I think you should worry about your own affairs. _My Lady_.” the man snarls hostilely and grabs the hilt of his blade.

“ _Easy now._ ” Sylvanas says grimly and pointedly swings herself off her horse.

“A woman. Could have mistaken you for a fair elven lad.” the man cackles, but noticeably doesn’t take his eyes off of the elf. “These are dangerous shores. Wouldn’t want any mishap to befall two so dazzling ladies on these roads.

“Did you just threaten me?” Jaina inquires with an honest incredulity in her voice that lacks any basis in reality.

“Oh, no. Wouldn’t have dreamed of it.” the man replies with a self-congratulatory chuckle, but reaches forward, clearly intent on grabbing a hold on the shorter blonde. Sylvanas swiftly rushes forward, unsure whether she can actually intervene, already cursing the human’s obstinacy. But Jaina, probably by sheer force of luck, somehow manages to slip his grasp and takes a remarkably quick and long step back, seemingly as surprised as the man himself. A blink of an eye later the tall elf woman is standing in between her and the man, as he without hesitation draws pistol and sword at the same time, his comrades already approaching, doing the same. Then everything happens in a blur.

A shot burrows into the mud next to the them, it’s echo ringing through in Jaina’s ears, as the elf still rolls into their assailant on her heels, grabbing a hold on his hand holding the blade, in one fluent motion thrusting its tip into the chest of the first of the others to arrive in range before he can so much as lift his own weapon.

With her other hand she draws the boarding ax, wrapping its head around the third man’s blade the moment he is in range too, and with a swipe of her wrist disposes of the weapon, throwing it in the dirt a few paces away. She twists around the ax and with another swing deeply buries it in the crook of his neck, a torrent of blood spilling all over his clothes instantaneously, as he is almost split in half.

The first man lets go of his blade, briefly slipping her grasp and lunges towards Jaina, with the hand that had been holding the pistol procuring a knife he immediately trusts at the lady. Again Jaina stumbles aside, startled by his attack, so he misses. A second later the head of the ax splits the back of his skull, and he collapses forward, driven by the force Sylvanas’ throw; Brain and blood now spilling into the dirt.

Sylvanas checks on the pair of elderly peasants from the corner of her eye, wary they might be part of it to begin with, but both of them seem as overwhelmed by the gruesome spectacle as the elf’s ward, who despite her feats of speed and reaction seems in a state of shock. Her eyes almost frantically taking in the sight of the now bodies

“Never do that again.” Sylvanas scolds sharply, but her hand already rests in the shorter blonde’s shoulder. “Never get off your horse before me, and never approach someone whose intentions you can’t fully judge.”

Jaina slowly nods, her face pale with terror still. Sylvanas knows the words most likely won’t reach her now, but is too upset to recognize it.

“Are you alright? Did he get you?” she says, leaning in to get on eye level with the human.

“No. I… I am not hurt. Just… All the blood….” Jaina replies meekly. In her head all she can hear is the thumping of her own heart, loud and strong. Everything is overwhelming. Blood is everywhere. And the smell, it’s so intense. In all of that there is the image of the elf’s gray eyes, faintly glowing with a dark red for the briefest moment whilst she spun in the fight, engraved in her mind. But that can’t be, can it? Her mind is playing tricks on her again.

“I am taking you back to the estate.” the taller woman announces strongly, her hand still gently resting on the shorter woman’s shoulder. There is a small blood splatter on the edge of her skirt.

“No!” Jaina protests, quietly at first, still composing herself, trying to tear her mind away from the bloodshed. “I don’t… We have to report this. Alert the constabulary. As you said. They need help too.” she argues, vaguely gesturing at the wagon. The elf inhales sharply again, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes.

“Are you sure you feel well enough to do that? This kind of violence can be very disturbing.”

“Yes. I… I will be alright. I think I want the distraction now.” Jaina replies, her eyes briefly resting on the bloody mess again, still accompanied by the hasty thumping of her heart.

“So be it. Your mother won’t be pleased regardless. And I am here to chaperon you, not carry you around on your mother’s behest.” Sylvanas concedes. “But I will if you do anything like that ever again. So if you aren’t keen on traveling thrown over the back of my horse with your hands tied, you do as I say from now on, yes?”

“Thank you.” Jaina replies and eventually manages to tear her gaze away from the slaughter.

“Thank you, my Lady!” the old man croaks, with a cracked voice. “We owe you our life.” His words only prompt the elf to shoot him an openly hostile look, quickly silencing him again.

The rest of the days passes without any such excitement, and Jaina manages to acquire all the things her friends asked of her and more, filling the saddle bags of her horse and Banshee with sundry pastries and confectionery as well as alcohol.

Obviously her mother is furious, immediately putting more restrictions on her life in place, but relents when Sylvanas explains Jaina wasn’t at fault for what happened and had simply acted in good faith. A lie to say the least. But her mother seems to trust the elf enough to take her at her word, leaving Jaina with only more questions than answers about the mysterious elf she still practically knows nothing about after all these weeks, except that she most definitely knows how to wield that ax.

Her next dream, – She isn’t really sure if you could call it a nightmare, at all – isn’t of the fight, or all the blood, like one would expect. She is standing on a large clearing in the middle of the same woods. At least she thinks it is the same; It smells the same. If asked she would say it smells like darkness, even though she knows that it can’t have a smell. A full moon shines bright above in a starless sky. A sea of deep black, and like before it’s completely quiet around her. She can’t even hear the wind, or the rustling of the underbrush. She is still dressed in her nightgown, but there is no blood. Not that she can see.

She just stands there. She wants to move, but her legs don’t obey. She looks and looks around. At first it seems like there is only darkness beyond the treeline surrounding the clearing, but the longer she looks, the more details she can make out. There are flowers blooming in the dark, bushes, trees. She thinks she can make out a lone butterfly somewhere in the distance. It feels peaceful at first, but as more and more things are visible to her, she gets aware of, there is this dread again. The peace of mind and the quiet morphing from a pleasant, homely warmth into a ghastly cold. Her feet are no longer standing, they are held in place. There is a presence approaching, quickly, threateningly, but before she can turn and look, she wakes.

She is peacefully lying in her bed. No cold sweat, no struggle, but the faint, barely noticeable scent of blood filling her room, its source she can’t locate, even after searching for an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry only boring exposition and a little bloodshed... :3

**Author's Note:**

> PS: I'm also taking tag sugestions here, because I honestly dont even know. But there are also things I haven't tagged yet to not spoil the surprise.


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